Set after season 4. Alfred the Great is sent back one last time in the dead of night to visit four very important people.

"My England... my love."

The kingdom of Wessex had lost King Alfred in 899, the Great as he became known, the root of much of their stability and without whom the world had turned upside down. He had been an influence in many lives, whether as an attentive or absent father, a stern but loving husband, a great leader of men, or as the bane of a certain baptised heathen's life.

At that moment, the whole of Wessex came to a halt. For others, it was a new beginning. A new king, a new way of life. For Alfred, it was the end of a long, accomplished reign. Many held him in respect, whether grudgingly or lovingly, attending his funeral, his burial.

During his lifetime, and indeed on his deathbed, Alfred had thought about the afterlife. As a pious Christian, he believed in a heaven and a hell, and prayed hard to not see himself in the depths of the flames that would plague his dreams.

As he lay dying, he hoped he had repented enough for the sinful ways of his youth, hoped to find the gates of heaven opened to him. He left the earth with no fear left in his heart. Whatever God had planned for him, he would take it.

But he would never have expected this.

"Where am I?"

"You have certain things that must be done."

"Yes, I dreamt of a united England, and I wanted to see to it that-"

"Not England. Not what you are thinking of. Your descendants will see it done. Uhtred will see it in his lifetime."

"Oh. Then what?"

"You will know."

"What do you mean? Who are you? What-?"

Alfred awoke with a start, on what appeared to be the floor of the palace he had lived in for so long. Something felt wrong as he slowly stood up, brushing down his robe, before he remembered the conversation he had had. His head felt like it was spinning as he tried to take everything in at once.

Am I dead or alive?

It was not often that Alfred felt completely helpless and confused, but this was not an ordinary situation.

He looked down at himself, and saw that the robe he was wearing was a plain white, presumably what he had been buried in... so he had to be dead. Except he felt very much alive, more so than he had felt in the final stages of his life. His hand was not placed over his stomach, aching with pain, he had no difficulty standing up and walking at all. This newfound freedom, as he liked to think of it, brought a rare smile to his face.

Alfred looked out of a nearby window and saw it was around nightfall, or at the very least early morning. The only people on his mind were his beloved wife Aelswith and his son Edward... who was now king, he reminded himself. He felt an uncontrollable urge to visit them one last time, and his legs started to walk in the direction of his old room without him really thinking. He only stopped when he recognised the two soldiers stood guard outside the door... who were looking directly at him.

However, they did not seem to be able to see Alfred, and he tentatively walked towards the door, pausing when he grasped the handle. He slowly turned it, pushing the door until there was a gap large enough to slip through, and quietly shut it behind him. The sound of faint snoring peaked his attention, and he turned around to see Edward lying fast asleep in his bed.

Edward's hair was slightly longer than Alfred remembered it to be, but, he thought fondly, it suited him and his new position as king. Alfred was lost in thought for a while, only jolted back to his senses when he saw Edward shift, and suddenly sit up.

"Who are you?" he said brusquely, rubbing his eyes to see better.

"You do not recognise your father, Edward?" Alfred asked quietly.

Edward's eyes widened. "Father?" he asked nervously. "Is that really you? Or am I dreaming still?"

Alfred gave an almost imperceptible smile. "No," he said, walking over to sit at the chair beside Edward's bed. "In truth, I do not know why I am still here. I have been told I have certain things to do, things left unfinished."

"But England-"

"Not England," Alfred said. "That is not for me to attempt to finish now, but for my descendants. Something else. Perhaps a last goodbye, I do not know."

Edward sat in silence for a few moments, a tear leaking from the corner of his eye. "I am King now, Father," he said after a while. "I hope I will be as great a leader as you were."

"I have raised you to be one, Edward," Alfred told him, a faint note of pride in his voice. "I have every faith in you. The Witan shall also put their trust in you. And your mother... I know she is proud of you. But you must also remember that I will always be there in spirit with you."

While Alfred had never shown many outward signs of affection to his children, he could not stop himself from reaching out to hug Edward, who clung to him as fiercely as he had as a child.

When Edward finally pulled away, his face was red and streaked with tears. "I will keep your dream of England alive, Father," he promised.

"That is all I ask," Alfred said. "How is your wife, Lady Aelflaed?"

"She is healthy," Edward said, managing a smile. "And she is with child. We think it will be a boy."

"Then I pray he is delivered safely when the time comes," Alfred said. "But what of your first wife, Ecgwynn? And your son, Aethelstan?"

Edward shifted uncomfortably. "As far as I know, she took holy orders and resides in a nunnery. She can see our daughter but Aethelstan... he is confined to a monastery. She has not seen him since he was taken from her. He remains safe, Father, it is for his own protection."

However in Edward's eyes, Alfred could see clearly the longing to see his son, to raise him as his own, because he too had suffered that way when Osferth was born.

"I will tell you this only because it is what I wish I had done while I still had the chance," Alfred sighed. "Go and visit him if you can, be it in disguise if you must, but do not ignore the boy. He is still young, and every boy deserves a father who loves them. Let him know that he is loved, albeit from the sidelines. But do not forget about him. It is different for you, however. Technically the marriage was valid. Aethelstan is legitimate, and when you choose, in time, who to make your heir, do not leave him out of your consideration."

Edward was conflicted, and Alfred understood this, but it was imperative that he heard it all, because Aethelstan could be the future of England as he imagined it to be.

"I will try, father," he said finally, "I swear."

At that, Alfred stood up, albeit reluctantly. He wanted more than anything to stay, but he couldn't remain hidden forever. To take the crown back from Edward was not what he wanted. He was not here to stay, even though the prospect of leaving broke his heart.

"You may choose to ignore what I have told you and you are well within your rights to do so," he said, "but I hope you do not forget any of it. I must go and find your mother now, for my time is running short. Rule wisely, Edward of Wessex."

"Goodbye, Lord King," Edward said quietly, as Alfred made his way to the door. "Goodbye, Father."

Alfred looked one long, last time at his son, before he turned and slipped through the door, leaving a shaken Edward wondering whether he was still dreaming or not.

Alfred could not stop replaying the meeting with Edward in his head all the way to his wife's room. Once again, he slipped through the doors and sat beside the sleeping form of Aelswith.

Her hair had more streaks of grey than it had had when he had left her, but asleep she looked far more peaceful than she must have felt in those last few months.

She did not immediately awaken at the feeling of a presence by her bedside, but the sound of someone shifting in the chair caused her eyes to flutter open. She looked to her right and saw, in utter shock, her late husband seated in her chair. His complexion was no longer waxy and pale, but he looked as alert and healthy as he had before his deterioration.

"Lord King?" she whispered. "Is it really you? Or am I simply seeing what I wish to be true?"

"It is true, Aelswith," Alfred replied, reaching out to take her hand. It was warm against his cold skin. "Though I am no longer king, of course. Now I am only Alfred."

"No," Aelswith said softly, "you will always be a king in my heart and in the chronicles. But if you are alive-?"

"I have been sent back here," Alfred told her, "though what exactly for I do not know. I have already seen Edward, and as I told him, perhaps as a last goodbye. Although you were with me during my final moments, for which I will always appreciate you."

"Forgive me," Aelswith said, as tears began to roll down her face, "forgive me for doubting you about Uhtred. I should not have berated you, I should have-"

"It does not matter now," Alfred said quietly. "I am here, my love. One more time." He kissed her forehead gently, warm against his cold lips.

Aelswith sat up, her back resting against the elaborate headboard. "What did you speak to Edward about?" she asked.

"I advised him," he replied simply. "On what to do about Aethelstan."

"His first child," she sighed. "I see."

"There is time for that still," he said. "He is only a small boy, he does not yet know of his true birth. When the time comes, however, you must speak to him, aid him, however you can. He will be important. I do not yet know how, but I have a strong feeling he will be."

"I will do everything I can," Aelswith whispered.

Alfred was surprised to see that her attitude had changed since last time, that she had not argued against it at all, but perhaps she had seen a new light since he had left her.

"Thank you," he said, smiling a little. "You are being treated well?"

"Yes," Aelswith said faintly. "Though Edward would do well to rely less on Lord Aethelhelm and to listen to his mother more often. Perhaps he will grow wiser in the future."

"Lord Aethelhelm advises him now?" Alfred said, frowning.

"Primarily," Aelswith said, and sighed. "In truth... it was me who sent Beocca away after your... passing. It was wrong of me, I know now, and I regret it more than anything. You know of his...?"

"I do," he said, "sadly, I do. But he is reunited with Thyra now, and they are very happy together. They have found peace at last. "

Aelswith smiled sadly. "Yes. And for that, I am glad."

"Uhtred must not have taken his death very well," Alfred commented, remembering how close the warrior had held Beocca to his heart. "I know of his desire to retake Bebbanburg. It must only be fuelled even more now that he has Beocca to avenge."

Aelswith hummed in response. She did not hate Uhtred as much as she once had, but still she did not necessarily like him. "Will you see him?" she asked.

"I could not go back without seeing him once," Alfred sighed. "It must be tonight."

"There is not long left before dawn," Aelswith said. "You should find him now. I am... grateful that you have come to see me tonight. My heart can finally be at peace."

"I had to, Aelswith," he said, and she smiled at the sound of her name. He lifted her hand and kissed it again. "I must go now."

"I shall see you again one day, my Lord," she murmured, the tears threatening to fall from her eyes again. "Until then, I shall keep you in my prayers."

Alfred stood up. "And you in mine," he said, a hint of a smile on his face. It took everything within him to turn away and walk out of the door.

Uhtred was now the person in mind, as Alfred thought about where he would be. It was a time of peace, as he had discovered, so most likely he was residing in Coccham with the rest of his men... including Osferth.

But how to get there?

Alfred closed his eyes, picturing Coccham as best as he could remember it, and only opened them when he heard a distant yet loud peal of laughter.

He was no longer standing in the hallways of the palace, but was in a smaller room than the ones he had visited Aelswith and Edward in. The laughter seemed familiar, and Alfred realised with a start that he had somehow managed to travel to Coccham in the blink of an eye.

Before he could even begin to wonder how this had happened, the door to the room opened, the noise becoming louder as it spilled inside. Standing there was Uhtred, the smile on his face slipping off as he saw Alfred.

"Alfred?" he said quietly, shutting the door behind him. The room grew silent. "Am I drunk or is that you?"

"Perhaps both, I would say," Alfred said dryly, sitting down in the chair near the window. He motioned for Uhtred to join him, and Uhtred sat on the edge of the bed opposite him.

"You're supposed to be-"

"Dead, I know," Alfred said. "I will not be here for long before I go back. I have already spoken to Edward and my wife Aelswith at the palace."

"You have?" Uhtred asked, unsure of what he was seeing.

Was it a hallucination, like when he had seen Leofric while suffering with a fever? Or could it truly be the former King of Wessex, returned to bother him one more time?

"It seems you have not tired of tormenting me, even in death," he added wryly.

Alfred chuckled. Though he would never admit it, he was glad Uhtred had not reacted the same way his wife and son had. His heart had felt heavy when he had left them, and for a reason he could not quite understand, he knew he would not be able to bear it if Uhtred too wept in front of him.

"I am sorry about Beocca," he said quietly.

"You don't need to be," Uhtred said, exhaling heavily. "I know he is with Thyra now. They are at peace, are they not?"

"They are," Alfred confirmed, smiling slightly. A silence fell between them, before he spoke up again. "How have you been, Uhtred?"

Uhtred fixed his piercing gaze on the ex-king.

"As well as I can be, Lord," he replied tightly.

"And your men?" Alfred pressed, his searching look conveying more than could be spoken at that moment.

"They are also well," Uhtred said, frowning slightly. Some of his awkwardness faded, to be replaced with curiosity.

"This must be one of your men's rooms," Alfred said, looking around and noticing a cross on the table, something he knew Uhtred would never have owned.

"Yes," said Uhtred, his frown deepening. "It is Osferth's."

At the mention of his son's name, Alfred looked down at his tightly-clasped hands as a wave of regret washed over him.

Alfred heaved a sigh. "I have never... properly reconciled with Osferth. Never acknowledged him."

"Never even spoken to him, I believe," Uhtred said, and though he had not meant it to guilt Alfred, it certainly felt that way.

"It was not that I did not want to," Alfred sighed. "But for his safety. Surely you know this?"

"Everyone knows, Lord," Uhtred said. "Perhaps you should speak to him, before Finan convinces him to get drunk."

"I would like that more than anything," Alfred agreed, "though I feel... worried. What if he does not wish to speak to me? It is a cowardly thing to think, I know, but-"

"None of us were blind, Lord," Uhtred said levelly. "He wanted you to acknowledge him more than anything."

"Is there a way you can bring him here?" Alfred asked, the clear desperation in his eyes and his voice betraying his serene exterior. Uhtred nodded.

"Shouldn't be too hard," he said, smirking a little. "I'll order him to bed, before Finan pours too much ale down his throat and it all comes back up again."

Alfred smiled at that. Osferth had grown from the newborn baby he had held that day in the room above the alehouse all those years ago, and he wished again that he had been there to see him grow up. "Thank you again, Uhtred," he said quietly.

"It is nothing, Lord," Uhtred said, standing up, "nothing but something I should have done a few hours ago. You should pray he is still able to stand."

Alfred, too, stood up. After a lengthy pause, Uhtred spoke up.

"This will be the last time I see you, won't it?" he asked. Alfred nodded.

"It was a pleasure knowing you, Uhtred," he said, extending his hand to the warrior.

"I thought your God told you not to tell lies?" Uhtred retorted, and both of them openly laughed as he clasped Alfred's hand tightly.

Both were reluctant to let go, before Uhtred finally withdrew his hand and made for the door. "Farewell, Lord," he smiled, before he walked through the door, leaving Alfred alone with a sad smile on his own face.

Waiting felt like agony. For Alfred, the time was passing slower than usual before the blessed door finally opened once more. Alfred looked up and saw his son staring back at him, a mixture of shock and sadness on his face.

"Am I drunk already?" Osferth asked shakily, backing away towards the door.

"Uhtred asked me the same thing," Alfred said. "It is me, Osferth. Truly."

At the sound of his voice, Osferth visibly flinched a little. He had not heard it for some time now, and never had it been addressed to him either. "Why are you here?" he asked, his voice a great deal quieter than usual.

"To right a great wrong that was done to you," Alfred replied, stepping forward. Osferth's back was pressed against the door, and Alfred sighed. "You do not have to be afraid," he told his son. "Come and sit down. I wish to speak with you."

Osferth looked as conflicted as he felt, though he did as he was asked, sitting in the same spot Uhtred had occupied minutes earlier. "What do you have to say to me... Lord?"

"To grow up without a father in your life is a terrible thing," Alfred said softly. "I did not wish to deprive you of that love, but I had to."

"I know," Osferth muttered sullenly. "It was either that or being killed as a baby. I've been told that before."

"If it was up to me I would have accepted you as my own at once," Alfred continued, his eyes pleading with Osferth to listen, to believe him. "But I couldn't."

"I didn't want you to acknowledge me publicly," Osferth said, trying to hide the bitterness in his voice. "All I wanted was for you to speak to me just once, in private. Couldn't you have managed that at least?"

His voice was trembling as he fought to keep himself steady, and Alfred felt his heart break at the sight. Though Osferth was angry, he was also hurting, and he roughly brushed away the tears pooling in his eyes before he continued.

"All the years I spent in that monastery being told I was doomed to hell because my father had sinned, all that time I spent being shunned by everyone because of who my father was, and all for what? To watch you fawn over your two legitimate children while you completely ignored me? You've never spoken a word to me in my life!"

Osferth had not meant to shout. He pressed his lips tightly together as he realised what he had done, but a part of him felt glad that he had finally gotten to say what was on his mind. He looked down at his hands, refusing to let Alfred see his tears.

Alfred felt more guilty than he had ever felt before. He had known during his lifetime that Osferth must have been unhappy with essentially being ignored by his own father for his whole life, but to hear his pain broke Alfred's heart.

"I'm sorry, Osferth."